“First, it is ridiculed”

Posted on May 3, 2012 by barczablog

Stewart Goodyear posted the following quote on Facebook today:

“First, it is ridiculed….; Second, it is violently opposed; Third, it is accepted as being self-evident.” -Arthur Schopenhauer

Goodyear probably meant to speak of his Beethoven Marathon but I am borrowing it to speak of the Met Ring Cycle, directed by Robert Lepage.

The second of three Metropolitan Opera Ring Cycles concludes Thursday with Götterdämmerung, followed Saturday night by Das Rheingold to kick off the third cycle.

Robert Lepage

Quebec director and actor Robert Lepage, shown in Toronto in 2009, is revamping the Met Opera’s entire Ring Cycle. Die Walkuere will follow in the spring. (Darren Calabrese/Canadian Press)

In Canada Lepage’s star shines as brightly as ever, whereas in NY, the response to the Ring is decidedly equivocal.  Lepage has been on the defensive, after attacks in the press.  The most strident of these was Alex Ross’s piece in New Yorker including this much-quoted paragraph:

“Götterdämmerung,” the final installment of Lepage’s “Ring,” arrived in January, rounding out what must be considered a historic achievement. Pound for pound, ton for ton, it is the most witless and wasteful production in modern operatic history. Many millions of dollars have been spent to create a gargantuan scenic machine of creakily moving planks, which have overshadowed the singers, even cowed them, without yielding especially impressive images. “

But this is par for the course.  Although greeted with boos & cries of outrage at its premiere, Patrice Chereau’s 1976 Ring Cycle for the Bayreuth Festival Centennial has become an influential classic.

I am not going to argue that Lepage’s Ring will be as influential (I don’t read the future): but I wouldn’t be surprised.  But the outrage in both cases –1976 & 2012—arises from a defence of a kind of orthodoxy, not because of anything specific in the new interpretation.  It’s especially ironic that the standard procedure in the 21st Century is essentially to emulate Chereau: to make a subtle commentary on Wagner’s Ring.

Entrance of the Gods

Entrance of the Gods into Valhalla in Robert Lepage’s staging of Richard Wagner’s Das Rheingold at the Metropolitan Opera in New York. (Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera/Associated Press)

The big irony is that Lepage has dared to stage the work as written.  Where Chereau staged ironic subtexts & deconstructions, often ignoring Wagner’s stage directions and leading a generation of directors to walk all over Wagner, Lepage has come back to the text in an almost literal manner.

If there were only one possible audience, the furor (or the impression thereof in the press) might be a problem.  Yet Lepage seems to have found a new audience, which likely was the idea in the first place.  If an older cohort of audience members were to stomp their feet and say no to Lepage, a newer group would likely take their place.

But the truth isn’t so black and white.  Some people will come for the music while tolerating a staging they don’t like.  Some people actually do like the staging, although the size of this group is anyone’s guess, given that the complaints in the realm of social media may simply be a small but vocal group.

Me?  I don’t understand.  I have seen all four operas in the High Definition broadcasts, and was able to attend Die Walküre at Lincoln Centre during the first cycle.  In person, the set is magnificent.  Some have spoken about the noises Lepage’s machine makes.

So?

I am in the audience, watching a mountain move.  I am watching a forest of trees.  Why would such a miraculous effect be silent?  It’s imposing, and indeed a bit scary.  When Bryn Terfel climbs upon the surface of this set, the set is like a wild creature, moving as he walks upon it.

If I were at a circus I would be marvelling at the movements of acrobats or the animals or the aerialists.  That Lepage has brought some of that excitement to the opera is a good thing, I believe, even if some narrow-minded people seem to believe opera sets should be silent.

I used to dislike broccoli when I was a kid, but eventually I tried it and discovered I like it.  Some people are obstinate.

Their loss.

While these operas may not deliver the expected result –especially for those arriving with a rigid list of criteria for what might constitute a successful presentation of Wagner’s Ring Cycle–that does not mean there’s nothing worth seeing, let alone hearing.  I am frankly embarassed, considering how tame these productions are, how tiny the “challenges” being imposed upon the audience.

The New York opera fans upset about Lepage’s Ring remind me of spoiled customers in a Starbucks, demanding that the Manager fire the barrista for messing up their order.  Opera may sometimes resemble a product, especially when the audience passively refuse to meet the work halfway.  Had Wagner encountered such an audience he would never have written anything.

Posted in Essays | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Handel and Zhang: great minds thinking alike

Posted on April 28, 2012 by barczablog

I’m writing about two men who made some odd choices, showing a parallel brilliance even though separated by centuries.

George Frederic Handel was simply trying to make a living, a composer whose works were sometimes welcomed, sometimes not.  Semele, with its story of marital infidelity and amorous gods with a libretto from William Congreve was originally presented as an oratorio during the Lenten season in London in 1744: when such matters were indecorous.  While the work was written in English (and is for all intents and purposes an opera, given the flamboyance of the material, notwithstanding its initial presentation as “oratorio”) it seems to have been a victim of the same change of fashion that saw Handel’s Italian operas falling from public view for roughly two centuries.  Yes Handel’s operas are being produced nowadays, Semele included…

Flash forward to the 21st century, as explained in this quote from a NY Times review that could serve as an explanatory preamble to what we’re to see when the Canadian Opera revives a production previously seen in Belgium and China:

This “Semele” is the upshot of an unusual co-production between La Monnaie and — in lieu of another opera house — the fledgling KT Wong Foundation, whose mission is to stimulate Chinese-Western cultural interaction. In the foundation’s most ambitious project to date, its chairwoman, Linda Wong Davies, conceived the idea of uniting Western Baroque opera and Chinese stagecraft, then proceeded to act as matchmaker by bringing together a major European opera company and an innovative Chinese artist.

Zhang

Artist Zhang Huan

The innovative artist is Chinese performance artist Zhang Huan.  The result is a curious inter-cultural response to Handel’s work.  Zhang’s production is in a very real sense

  • An installation as much as a production
  • A site-specific production (normally impossible in an opera house).
  • A definite parallel to what Handel himself did originally (in premiering his opera as a Lenten oratorio)
Zhang's temple

Zhang's temple in the 2009 La Monnaie production of Handel's Semele (photograph Karl Forster)

We’re told that Zhang has found a 450 year-old Buddhist temple, that was concealed inside a house, a house with a relevant back-story.  The house was owned by a couple with their own tale of infidelity.  The husband discovered his wife was cheating, killed the lover, and was subsequently executed.  The wife, who still lives, comes to the theatre where that temple is reconstructed, herself a kind of ghost who lives on, while the two men who longed for her do not.  She is a curious mirror image to Semele herself (in case you don’t recall the story, Semele was Jupiter’s lover, who is incited by the jealous wife Juno to ask to see the great god in all his glory, when he had promised to grant any wish: which of course mortal Semele could not survive), being the one mortal survivor, where in the ancient tale only the object of desire perishes.

It’s a brilliant story and the sort of metaphor that installations employ.  Pierre Louys put out the Chansons de Bilitis originally on the premise that they were genuine ancient artefacts, a piece of gloss that changed the way we read those songs; they were of course his original creation.  George Faludy made his reputation in Budapest for his translations of songs by François Villon: again a bogus historicity that served mostly to make Faludy (my favourite Hungarian poet) famous.

And so, we have the story of a temple concealed within a house.  What a beautiful image, when you think of it.  And whether the “temple” we see before us is truly 450 years old or not, the stage for Semele becomes a kind of historic site of infidelity, and also a temple to desire.  That it is a Buddhist temple is somewhat ironic, considering that the usual Buddhist goal is to transcend desire rather than celebrate it (for further study next season, come see the COC production of Tristan und Isolde, to see whether Wagner under the influence of Schopenhauer genuinely seems to overcome or celebrate desire).

I think I am going to love this.  It’s being assistant directed by Allison Grant, who recently directed the Roméo et Juliette at Vancouver Opera.  The NY Times review of the original version from La Monnaie calls attention to a few things Zhang did, that may or may not survive in the Toronto production:

The joyful conclusion of Act I is undone when followed by an unaccompanied Mongolian song. More damaging is Mr. Zhang’s decision to end the opera prematurely with Semele’s death; thereafter, in a kind of funeral procession, men of the chorus hum — of all things — the Communist anthem “International.” Instead of leaving the theater elated by Handel’s final chorus, one goes away perplexed.

But I WANT to be perplexed.  I love that sensation, and what’s more, I recall reading somewhere that Zhang likes that experience too.  Being lost is something I adore.  I wrote a paper about it long ago, and I think it’s something very spiritual.  We live in a culture where people are never lost, always knowing where we are with our GPS’s, our mobile phones, a web of technology all around us.

I believe Zhang did his homework.  The oxymoronic quality of the Buddhist temple of desire matches Handel’s amatory opera during Lent perfectly.  While Handel’s choice (putting this sizzling story on during Lent) may have been ill-advised, Zhang’s choice seems apt.

Okay, so you can probably tell I am going to love this production, with its puppet dragon, sumo wrestlers, (hopefully including the Mongolian song and the Internationale as well) and the temple, whether or not it really is 450 years old.

And as David Feheley, COC’s Technical Directory explained, Semele will be a technical tour de force from the COC backstage staff.  Neither of the previous incarnations of this Semele were staged in rep, which is to say, requiring the temple to be assembled and then taken down for the other operas (Tales of Hoffmann and the Zemlinsky/Puccini double bill reviewed earlier this week).

The temple weighs 17 tons.  Perhaps that doesn’t seem like much when placed alongside such behemoths as Lepage’s 45 ton set for the Ring cycle at the Metropolitan Opera in New York.  But large as that set is, it was built all along as a set, to be assembled and taken down.  Zhang’s temple –real or otherwise—has none of the usual characteristics of a set.  It’s not a synecdoche or incomplete image of something.  It is complete.  It’s not made from materials designed for use on a stage.  It looks real.

This temple has been assembled and won’t come apart because it’s on a solid wheeled platform that can slowly be removed for one of the other shows.  Lighting is built right into this unit.

archibald

Soprano Jane Archibald

As if that weren’t enough to attract an audience, the COC have assembled a wonderful cast, headed by soprano Jane Archibald in the title role, she of the Juno award winning CD of Haydn arias, and the wonderful coloratura voice we encountered last season as Zerbinetta.  Her rival –for Jovian love if not for vocal honours—is Allyson McHardy, so passionate as Dejanira in Hercules with Tafelmusik just a few weeks ago.

Allyson Mchardy

Mezzo-soprano Allyson McHardy

When I jokingly alluded to the stories of divas upstaging one another, McHardy & Archibald mugged outrageously for me, clearly a pair who enjoy one another’s company and are having fun in this production.

The icing on the cake of their happy collaboration is supplied by the conductor, baroque specialist Rinaldo Alessandrini, who brings an authenticity to Semele (at least by reputation) comparable to what Harry Bicket brought here with his Orfeo ed Euridice a couple of years ago.  Here’s an example where you can see what a wonderful conductor Alessandrini is.   While the pronunciation is perhaps not ideal watch how he follows the young singer…AND notice the wonderful tempo in the middle –scourging—section .

The Canadian Opera Company production of Semele opens May 9th at the Four Seasons Centre in Toronto. I’m looking forward to it, a wonderful update on the little bit of Semele i encountered when i was young; here’s the one really famous piece of music from this opera in a famous old version.

Posted in Essays | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

Two from Florence

Posted on April 27, 2012 by barczablog

The double bill of Zemlinsky’s A Florentine Tragedy with Puccini’s Gianni Schicchi, currently being presented by the Canadian Opera Company, is a marriage made in heaven, a pair of complementary opposites who seem to belong together.

They’re alike in some key ways…

  • Both operas are set in Florence
  • They are roughly contemporary in composition from around 1917-1918
  • Both operas have plots driven by avarice and disparities of wealth

Yet even so, …

  • Zemlinsky is not well-known, while Puccini is arguably the most popular composer of the 20th Century
  • A Florentine Tragedy is dark, while Gianni Schicchi is a comic masterpiece
  • Notwithstanding the date of composition, Zemlinsky’s music is often dissonant and disturbing, whereas Puccini’s occasional dissonances are usually zany rather than disturbing, and serve to set up the luscious melodies he spins.  But Zemlinsky does offer a few wonderful climaxes.

Conducted by Andrew Davis, I believe this is the largest COC orchestral complement we’ve seen in a long time, at least in the Zemlinsky.  Huge as the assembled forces may have been for most of the work, Davis held them delicately in check, swelling only occasionally, particularly at the volcanic conclusion.  The Zemlinsky work sounds a lot like Richard Strauss, with the expressionist flair we find from operas such as Elektra or Salome.

Wilson Chin’s set design captured these two very distinct worlds, allowing them to cohere wonderfully as a satisfying evening of opera.  The dark work (called a “tragedy” but maybe not so tragic) unfolds as a love triangle on a big bare stage, while the light comedy takes place in a cramped space full of junk.  Although they’re different the worlds of both are so preoccupied with property and materialism that it’s manifested in the physical environment of the set.

Bass-baritone Alan Held had a busy night.  As Simone in the tragedy he’s singing a great deal, much of it in a high register, followed by the role of Gianni Schicchi, which isn’t much easier, also lying high.  The teutonic style of the Zemlinsky seems to be a better fit for Held’s voice than the Italianate comedy, although true to his name he more than held his own.

Gun-Brit Barkmin as Bianca, Michael König as Guido Bardi and Alan Held as Simone (background) in the Canadian Opera Company production of A Florentine Tragedy, 2012. (photo by Michael Cooper)

While I laughed throughout the Puccini I enjoyed the dark opera more.  For me it’s a brand-new work, full of wonderful moments, luscious orchestral sonorities, unexpected emotional turns, and a wonderful concluding five minutes.  Director Catherine Malfitano is to be congratulated for shaping this complex and ambiguous work successfully.  Bianca, Simone’s wife, is shown with her husband in an oversize portrait centre stage (you can see it in the photo) with her husband’s hand in a controlling position on her neck.  In their first encounter he gently seizes her –if that isn’t a complete oxymoron—by the back of the neck.  While this may seem obvious, the story is anything but.  Held’s physical presence is threatening even though he is subservient to the Prince, who is busily cuckolding his subject right in Simone’s own home.

Gun-Brit Barkmin makes a wonderfully complex Bianca, surrendering to Michael König’s Prince, yet seemingly in thrall to her husband’s complex dominance.  It should be no surprise that this twisted tale comes to us from Oscar Wilde.  Malfitano’s conclusion to A Florentine Tragedy provided a wonderful echo of the cloak from one of the original Puccini triptych, namely Il Tabarro ; where the cloak in the Puccini shocker conceals a dead body, in this case the cloak leads to an unexpectedly loving and sensual embrace.

Wilson Chin's complex set for Gianni Schicchi (Photo by Michael Cooper)

While I found the Puccini a huge relief after the darkness of Zemlinsky, I wasn’t sure about the updating.  Instead of Medieval Florence we get something closer to Jersey Shore: which is apt I suppose considering that Malfitano is both American and Italian.  Sometimes the updating was very good, as for instance when René Barbera as Rinuccio sang his big paean to Florence from atop a pile of junk.  I worried for his safety –and no this isn’t to be mistaken for Spiderman—with the young tenor perched easily twenty feet above the stage floor.  I reminded myself that while the set appeared rickety of course it was carefully constructed to support him.  Overall I found that the modernization made the show warm & fuzzy rather than edgy, defusing some of the laughter that the opera can sometimes generate.  It’s still lots of fun though and especially delightful after the Zemlinsky.

Barbera’s singing was one of the highlights of the evening, along with the Lauretta of Simone Osborne, singing “Oh mio babbino caro”.  I felt Davis was channelling Toscanini, imbuing the operas with wonderful pace & verve, but also sometimes challenging the singers to perhaps sing faster than they might have wished.

Held, Barbera & Osborne make a loveable family unit, in this crowd-pleaser of an opera.  I hope no one is scared off by the opera composed by a guy whose name starts with a Z.  This double bill deserves to score well with the Toronto audience.

The Canadian Opera Company production of A Florentine Tragedy and Gianni Schicchi continue at the Four Seasons Centre in Toronto until May 25th.

Posted in Reviews | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Picasso in Toronto

Posted on April 25, 2012 by barczablog

When we come into contact with a great figure in the world of art we’re bound to be confronted with the great questions.

  • What is art?
  • What is culture & what is its relationship to citizenship & society?
  • How should one assemble great works to best advantage?
  • And what—if anything—can criticism offer?

This is perhaps more applicable to Pablo Picasso than any other artist: because of his lengthy career, his protean nature, reinventing himself over and over, and his centrality in the art world over the past century.

I am pondering such questions after seeing the preview at the Art Gallery of Ontario of Picasso: Masterpieces from the Musée National Picasso, Paris.  I don’t believe we’re expected to decode the lost mysteries of art, even if that’s sometimes the way criticism is presented, as for example in Woody Allen’s recent Midnight in Paris.

Whether you laugh or not, I hope the lesson is clear:

  • that criticism is not just an activity but an industry (ie the pompous guy who gives the first opinion about the painting: completely wrong by the way), and at times a big business
  • that the truth –especially the relationship between a life and works of art—is an elusive mystery
  • that art itself is largely independent of such issues (which may be one of the conclusions Woody Allen wanted to show, in a film that casts any notion of a “golden age” in a most ironic light)

This new Picasso show moves me to think of a series of questions at the same time.  I saw Picasso and Man at the Art Gallery of Toronto (as AGO was then called) in 1964, as a child.  I can’t help thinking about a few inter-connected issues:

  • In 1964 Picasso was still alive (75 years old), sufficiently current to be provocative if not revolutionary
  • 48 years later Picasso has become something of a classic
  • 48 years before Picasso and ManI? Surrealism & dada had not yet reared their heads, let alone the abstract style of a Jackson Pollock (just four years old in 1916).
  • One of the great lessons of this glorious sprawling show is to see how styles change from generation to generation, and to be humbled by how much can change in a lifetime.
Matthew Teitelbaum

Matthew Teitelbaum, the Michael and Sonja Koerner Director and CEO of the AGO

In his welcoming message, Matthew Teitelbaum spoke to the connection between the two shows, hinting at the changing role of the AGO, and a vision for the future.  We heard of a program whereby children would be given the free audio guide for shows: a forward-thinking idea.  I am reminded of the way the Canadian Opera Company –arguably the ne plus ultra of arts marketing in this country, if not on the continent– has built its audience and subscription base through its long-time policy to bring opera to children & students.

Part of the enjoyment of eating is in imagining how to recreate the meal; similarly as I consumed decades of Picasso, I marvelled at how the meal was assembled.  We’re told that art was like a diary for Picasso, so that his art is his story.  The organizing principle –the logic of chronology—while deceptively simple, conflates painter and painting.  But when we consider the complex issues one would otherwise encounter –if for instance, we organized the work around the various “isms” or movements whereby the art might be organized—the mind reels at the prospect, particularly considering how daunting such a task might be.  In other words, I’m thankful that the exhibition seems to be as amenable to analysis & criticism for those who work that way, or simply as a panorama of an artist’s life.  And recalling the clip from Woody Allen’s film, it’s as though we’re free to have it any way we wish ( with as much or as little analysis as we want).

Portrait of Dora Maar

Pablo Picasso (Spanish, 1881-1973) Portrait de Dora Maar (Portrait of Dora Maar), 1937, Oil on canvas, 92 x 65 cm
Pablo Picasso gift-in-lieu, 1979, MP158, Musée National Picasso, Paris, © Picasso Estate SODRAC (2012) © RMN/Jean-Gilles Berizzi

Moving from room to room, we stride with seven-league boots from decade to decade, from era to era, and implicitly, from movement to movement.  We detect the successful flavours of expressionism, cubism, surrealism, abstraction.  We observe another current, namely the political surge in the 1930s, in a series of paintings of searing power.  For me one of the climaxes (among several) was not a painting at all, but a series of photos by Dora Maar, Picasso’s current muse/mistress, showing the creation of Guernica.

I admit, my thinking has recently been influenced by what I’ve seen/heard:

  • Stewart Goodyear’s upcoming marathon of Beethoven piano sonatas (and my own miniature survey of those same sonatas on my own piano at home) has me looking at patterns in the complete cycle of sonatas.
  • The collaboration  of Talisker Players & Groundling Theatre in Muse of Fire presented several musical approaches to Shakespeare, encouraging a synthetic view across multiple plays.  Jane Archibald’s Juno award winning CD of Haydn arias also had me thinking about the composer –whom i don’t pretend to know very well– across decades.
  • The experiences I’ve had recently looking at attempts to build culture using theatre in small towns (Barrie, Richmond Hill and Scarborough) has me thinking about AGO as part of a cultural project, particularly considering the way Teitelbaum spoke (looking back at the Toronto of 1964, when we were smaller & less sophisticated: like me come to think of it)

Just as one experiences the emergence of new stylistic traits playing one sonata after another in historical order, so too when going from room to room in the Picasso show (also organized chronologically), one sees the development of new styles and tendencies.  And when one surveys one of the truly great artists one can’t help thinking about the pure essence that is “Picasso” (or Beethoven or Shakespeare or Haydn), even if in truth their work changed over the course of their life. Perhaps it’s a colossal fantasy to attempt to abstract a creator into one image when they are really the sum of all their diverse creations; but such grandiose fantasies are given some momentum in the presence of exhibitions such as this one.

The excitement in the city’s cultural meeting place is part and parcel of a transformation of that place into something transcendental.  While the show is surely an exhibit of the works of Picasso in several media, in a curious way it’s also just a new look at the gallery itself.  I’ve never liked the space so much as now, as it happily holds such wonderful works.  There’s an especially beautiful composition in one of the rooms, comprised of bronzes (for example “Head of a woman” 1931) in front of paintings (a series of 1931 figures on the seashore).  There was no place in the room that wasn’t stunning, no matter which direction you looked.  How astonishing.  I couldn’t move, until I realized I couldn’t stand still.

I’m thinking this is part of a larger project, a programming choice something like the symphonies or operas or plays selected by performing arts companies in the search for an audience and the creation of an ongoing meeting place to renew our artistic dialogue.  With Picasso: Masterpieces from the Musée National Picasso, Paris, as with the earlier Marc Chagall show and the upcoming exhibit of Frida Kahlo / Diego Rivera, AGO are giving us good reasons to become members: to continue that conversation.

Picasso: Masterpieces from the Musée National Picasso, Paris opens May 1st at the Art Gallery of Ontario, and runs until August 26th.

Posted in Reviews | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

Seek Haydn

Posted on April 23, 2012 by barczablog

At one time, the pathway to success for a virtuoso was simple.

  • Sing what everyone else sings
  • Sing it better than anyone
  • …and by doing so, prove that you’re the best
CD Haydn Arias

Haydn Arias: Canadian soprano Jane Archibald in her first solo recording.

The game has changed.  I own several CDs that follow the model listed above: and I rarely listen to them all the way through.  While such recordings do establish a performer’s credentials, they don’t necessarily serve the listener.

When the primary market for opera recordings consisted of the knowledgeable buyer wanting to sit in judgment of that virtuoso dynamic, there was always a limit to what you could accomplish even with an amazing voice.  Within each Fach you’re only going to have so many touchstones of excellence.  If it’s agreed that there are five to ten key arias whereby one shows one’s mastery, either you undertake those same arias –showing us how you measure up—or you sidestep the question by performing something else.  It means that the competition between the singers –the game of demonstrating virtuosity –is in some respects alien or counter-productive to the goal of entertainment.

We won’t even mention “art” because a CD of excerpts lined up in this way is an affront to the idea, arguably an exercise in bad taste.  While you’re at it, imagine a meal consisting of 10 different types of cupcake, or 10 different types chocolate truffle or 10 different full fat cheeses; ask yourself how you’d feel after devouring the entire meal, and whether you’d want to repeat the experience even once.

Got that visceral image in your head?

I bring this up because a singer who could probably prosper at the old game –of showing off her voice—has taken a different path.

Last season I saw Jane Archibald’s Zerbinetta three times at the Four Seasons Centre, in a Canadian Opera Company production conducted by Andrew Davis.  More recently I saw her –in a different costume in the same role—on medici.tv in a more recent production from Baden-Baden with Christian Thielemann, where –in the old fashioned dynamic of the virtuoso—Archibald very sweetly blew her Ariadne (Renée Fleming) completely off the stage.  Admittedly Archibald had ridiculous advantages:

  • While both women are beauties, Archibald is younger
  • Archibald was wearing a revealing outfit
  • And –the coup de grace—Archibald was aggressively taking the stage as Zerbinetta, a character who usually steals the show, when it’s not pre-emptively handed to her on a silver platter

I say this as preamble to Jane Archibald’s award –winning CD of Haydn arias from ATMA.

Instead of showing us that she’s the best at the old game, by singing the same arias everyone else sings, Archibald does something rather different.  Yes we get high notes ( for example, several glittering examples of the same high E that Zerbinetta sings, in the very first aria, “Al tuo seno forunato” from L’anima del filosofo).

But we also get a CD full of music that is largely unknown.

Haydn?  While his symphonies are regularly programmed, his operas still haven’t penetrated into standard repertoire as one might expect.  Il Mondo della Luna, Haydn’s 1777 opera with libretto by Carlo Goldoni deserves to crack that charmed circle of popular operas, a wonderful creation that will likely be seen more and more in the years to come.  Archibald gives us two delightful arias from that work.

ATMA have created a wonderfully harmonious CD that reminds me a bit of their CD for Michael Slattery singing Dowland, in the combination of instrumentals with vocals.  Instead of giving us a dozen or more tracks that are all essentially the same thing –that deadly array of sweets I was describing in the old-fashioned CD from a soprano or a tenor—the brains at ATMA thought to show some variety.  Where the Dowland CD includes Dowland instrumentals to go with his songs, the Haydn CD gives us Haydn operatic Overtures to broaden our enjoyment.  Orchestre Symphonique, Bienne conducted by Thomas Rösner have an edgy historically informed sound (the kettle drums sound fresh from the Napoleonic Wars) even though they use modern instruments.  But the lessons of period performance have informed the approaches of studious musicians regardless of the kind of instruments they play, as we saw when Harry Bicket conducted the Canadian Opera Company production of Orfeo ed Euridice.

The CD recently won the Juno (Canada’s “Grammy”) as best classical CD: deservedly.

I heartily recommend Archibald’s CD as a window on Haydn, even as I look forward to her return to Toronto as the title role of the upcoming COC production of Handel’s Semele, opening May 9that the Four Seasons Centre.

Soprano Jane Archibald

Soprano Jane Archibald and l’Orchestre symphonique Bienne under Thomas Rösner, has won a 2012 JUNO Award for Classical Album of the Year: Vocal or Choral Performance

Posted in Reviews | Tagged , , | 3 Comments

The healing power of Beethoven

Posted on April 21, 2012 by barczablog

I am writing after the fact, a little shocked by something I lived through, and want to testify to the healing power of music.  It shouldn’t be a surprise.  Conductors & musicians live remarkably long lives, likely rejuvenated by the music swirling around them like the waters of a fountain of youth.

I feel sanest at the piano.  It’s a place where irrational and rational coexist side by side.  Apollo and Dionysius have to make peace with one another, for better or worse, if they’re to co-exist inside the same skull.

This past week was very draining for me, disorienting because my usual schedule was turned upside down.  I made a family trip to NYC, including Die Walküre on Friday the 13th (lucky for me as it turned out) , coming home to a busy week partway through Monday.  Each of Tuesday & Wednesday entailed a day of work, a show at night and a review afterwards.  While this regular pattern of a full day of work, a show at night plus writing a review after midnight doesn’t leave much time for sleep, it was complicated by my excitement, which had me awake at odd hours like a kid waiting for Santa the next morning.

Thursday night –exhausted and mentally drained– i sat down at the piano at about 8:30 pm.  I had my old Beethoven sonata book out.  While I own another set (beaten up from years of play, particularly when one turns the page a bit too enthusiastically) I found this marvellous old set in a used book store: all 32 sonatas in one book.  The Schirmer or Schnabel sets are in two big volumes, whereas this one is the same size as a single volume from either of those.  How?  I suppose the text is smaller, the pages are thinner.  It’s an asset because it means fewer page-turns.

Goodyear in the piano

Goodyear: a man who gets into the piano

I pulled out this beloved book (and as I think of healing, the presence of such a book generating warm thoughts is probably a good thing) when I heard of Stewart Goodyear’s plan to play all 32 Beethoven piano sonatas in a single day.  I blogged a bit about it, playing through the first few sonatas, (except I skipped the first one)  ). Karen Lin led me to these questions, on her blog, reminding me of Julie & Julia, the film showing two parallel quests.  Just as Julie is the average person re-tracing the epic steps of Julia Child, Karen seems to be taking the small steps as a listener that would parallel the giant steps of Goodyear.  In the same (copycat) vein,  I as an amateur piano-player am also making my own parallel journey on a much smaller scale.

I wondered at 8:30, as I started playing opus 101 whether I could play to the end of the book.  I was tired and dazed, but would let the music lead me.  These are pieces I’ve played a lot, with the exception of one movement that I don’t pretend to really understand.  (more on that in a moment).  Fortunately I was alone and wouldn’t likely be disturbed.  If the phone were to ring I wouldn’t pick it up.

Op 101? A first movement that’s Wagnerian passion, all appoggiaturas and sighing incomplete phrases that anticipate Tristan und Isolde, but on a delicate and intimate scale.  It’s sexy music, and an enormous privilege to play.  Second movement?  Masculine crisp energy, a piece I only really “got” after hearing Anton Kuerti play it on his landmark recording.  The piece has the qualities of a small-scale blitzkrieg, of armies marching across the keyboard in perfect formation, tortured energies repressed to keep the goose-stepping perfectly in line, the delicate ornaments like the gleam of helmets and bayonets.  There’s a sweet little interlude in the middle, as if the soldier took off his clothes to swim in the pond of the farm he’s invading, perhaps with the farmer’s daughter.  But moments later, his uniform is back on and POW the army is on the march again.  Tired as I was, I surrendered to the demands of the piece, like a conscript marching in time with his comrades, unaware of how tired I was supposed to be. Third movement? Languid thoughtful, profound, one of the movements when Beethoven throws you a curve, surprising you with the last thing you would have expected.  It’s so tranquil and respectful, one can simply breathe and let one’s arms sink into the wonderful chords.

Finally, there’s a transition towards the end.  We get a lovely recap of the opening, perhaps a bit like what we have at the beginning of the last movement of the 9th Symphony, when snippets from previous movements take us back to earlier sentiments.  And then the last movement…   I wish I could say this was my insight but I am pretty sure I read somewhere that the last movement is like the gates of heaven opening.

Was it Kuerti again?… he is responsible for one quote that is especially memorable, when he said –in this paraphrase—“to play Beethoven one must become Beethoven,” an elegant way of understanding romantic identification, and indeed a handy justification for interpretative excess (not that Kuerti was guilty… his was a very polite Beethoven when I think back, with no fists shaken heavenwards that I can recall; but I will happily wear Kuerti’s dictum on my sleeve, to justify the mistakes I make, when Dionysius momentarily gets the better of Apollo).

At one time I was not sure whether that image –heaven opening– would work for me, but I’ve tried to play the piece that way.  At one time I used to play it way too fast and loud, consumed by the counterpoint and the voices surging against one another.  I say this, by the way, mindful of the one movement among these last 5 sonatas that doesn’t hang together for me, that’s simply too big, too complex for me to grasp at an organic level and waiting around the next curve in the maze like the Minotaur: the vast concluding movement of op 106.  The heaven metaphor? It is helpful for one big reason: that I try to come to the the piece without the need to make drama full of conflict over several minutes seeking resolution & perhaps a catharsis (gasp…); instead it can be more of a piece that begins from a point of arrival, as a proclamation of release & liberation.  Think of the way the “Hallejah” chorus proclaims something, and takes its space precisely because it’s already confidently arrived at a place of grace: and you’d have an idea of how I think one should play that last movement.  And that means, too, that it doesn’t have to be as loud, just as recent versions of the Hallelujah chorus (thinking especially of Kevin Mallon’s reading at the Dublin Messiah last December) start happily but grow gradually throughout.  With every successive attempt I find i am more capable of making the opening of this movement a calm affirmation.

Okay, so I pump out the A major chords to end op 101, and think, yes I shall go on to play the beginning of Op 106 and see how far I get.  How amazing to hear the similarities between these.  We’ve slid a semitone up the keyboard, and here we are leaping upwards yet again.  For anyone doubting the validity or purpose of Stewart Goodyear’s ambitious project (and I heard of at least one simplistic damnation) the insights one feels going from one to the next, seeing the similarities & parallels –for  instance between the two colossal contrapuntal movements in adjacent sonatas as well as the similarities between these upward leaping figures—are impossible to valuate.  I like the way this project is pushing me to think of the sonatas as an ongoing essay, the way sketches or compositions will inevitably return again and again to similar material.

I confess that I do cheat: for unlike Mr Goodyear  I will not do the Op 106 repeats because it’s late and I wonder if I will make it through tonight.  I gotta hurry..! if I am going to get this through tonight, tired as I am, I play the second movement quieter than ever, perhaps again mindful of the time but also letting the large project and my limited reserves of energy steer me towards a more delicate reading of this big scherzo.  Hm, this is giving me new insights again.  I come to the big long slow movement thinking –as I did playing the early sonatas over a week ago—and remember the historically informed interpreters and their lessons on Beethoven.  I play it faster, thinking of the way Norrington does the slow movement of the 9th.  The way I’d seen it notated made it almost painfully slow, dripping gravitas and drama.  Maybe that’s another of those modern mistakes.  (how do you say “look what they’ve done to my song ma” in German?)

I feel like a fraud playing the last movement of op 106.  While I was blown away by the way Goodyear plays it, I don’t really like this piece, or more truthfully, I just don’t get it.  The themes swirl around, but mostly leave me cold.  I am playing notes, trying to play it right (ha… without conviction or insight).  The recent memory of how Goodyear plays this is in my head, as I play it slower, ham-handed and really just going through the motions, to get to the next one.  But I am surprised when I get to a part I forgot that I liked.  After a cadence of sorts on A, and a pause we get very quiet in D; and we get very easy to play for a change…! Thanks Ludwig, for throwing me a bone.  We’re turning for home, now, with the return to B flat, including some ponderous heavy ascending notes in the bass.  But at least it’s intelligible, especially as we get to the easy –and very loud –conclusion. I get a big rush on that cadence, almost tears.  But it’s truthfully relief as much as joy.

On the facing page is the opening of a sonata Debussy must have liked, for its arabesques, arching sequences of notes on the page that seem to make a graphic design, gently lyrical with very little struggle.  From time to time we have eruptions of passion in this movement, but they’re mostly under the hand and eminently rational, sounding like improvisations.  Oh this is so easy after the struggles of the previous movement.  I am smiling like a Cheshire cat playing this, realizing that so long as I relax I can play to the end of the book.  No, I haven’t accomplished anything Olympian, but I am realizing I feel less tired than I did when I began.  My arms are loose, my eyes aren’t hurting.  Indeed I know these notes (unlike the previous movement) well enough that I barely need to read.  The arching phrases are like a roadmap, with a subtle series of reminders of where I am supposed to let this composition take me.  And let’s be clear, it takes me rather than the other way around. That’s probably why I feel so good, so relaxed.  Yes, I think it’s the sense that Beethoven’s compositions are so brilliantly shaped that their flow is inevitable as my own involuntary processes.  I can just trust their elegant organic shapes to nurture and heal me.

I have to stop briefly at the end of the first movement for the telephone, which is just as well.   The second movement is a gallop –which is what I believe Ted Hughes called it in Gaudete –and the metaphor is apt.  Playing this passage I need to be mindful for a bit, and for these bars at least I can’t pretend to be the passive rider, but must beware lest I hit a tree-branch or indeed lead my steed wildly off a cliff.  But it’s playable, under the hand if one just remembers where one is going.  This one, thankfully, I’ve practised before, but it’s so well written—again—that it comes back to me like the rhythms of riding a bicycle.

Now we come to one of my two favourite movements in this latter series of sonatas, the sets of variations that conclude sonatas 30 & 32.  Variations on a theme, and a beautiful theme at that, afford the pianist lots of space to relax, enjoy the view, sink into the passionate moments, float on the waves of quiet tinkly notes that flow without any struggle.  I am surrendering to the piece, which is keeping me safe somehow.  The last variation of this sonata leads to another passionate explosion, and I find I have more energy and clarity than I have felt in days.   We get to a final soft statement of the theme.  Beethoven offers such moments of dignified elegance whereby one can feel as eloquent as if one were a Shakespearean hero.

Op 110 is even calmer than 109, without as many rough patches nor –in my opinion—as much passion either.  We get to the fugal parts –often where my wheels come off because I simply prefer passages that sing and have a single melody to ride, rather then the enforced logic of counterpoint—and I’m feeling home-free.

A moment later I am hitting those big intervals that open op 111, sonata 32, and playing it –again—softer than usual.  Once more, the long arc of playing multiple sonatas pushes me in a new direction.  I have to thank Goodyear for this lesson (among several).  This time it’s not so much the desire to conserve energy as the awareness that it’s 10:00 or so, and there are kids who might be sleeping next door.  But to my surprise I get compliments from inside the house, the first feedback I’ve had throughout.  Perhaps it sounds better than I thought…?

This two movement sonata is among my favourites, surely a fitting conclusion to the cycle.  Fatigue is actually helpful, as I feel loose, playing the fast passages in the first movement without tension or conflict.  I am surprised that the relatively uncomplicated call-and-answer phrases in this movement flow so nicely, after the complexities of the other contrapuntal movements in the previous hour.  My mind is clearer than it has been all day, resonating with the pleasure of playing through the sequence thus far, and eager to take it to its conclusion.  The theme and variations bring it home, swelling to that fast passage that anticipates boogie woogie piano.  I remember the first time I found this being blown away that Beethoven seemed to anticipate what our pop music might sound like.  In context it never fails to excite me, but in this five sonata mini-cycle, I find it especially ecstatic.  What a rush, especially when i negotiate it without a mistake (and if that sounds like faint achievement listen to Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli or Rudolf Serkin play it –the first two i checked just now on youtube…. Michelangeli makes at least two mistakes, while Serkin plays it like a European who can’t dance, rounding off the dotted rhythms). Do people know this music?  I never hear people talk about it, but this has to be my favourite thing he wrote (hm… well I guess there are several other things of Beethoven that I also love. Fortunately we’re allowed to be promiscuous in our musical love life).  And then it quiets down, and builds to another sort of climax on trills, wanders away from C major before that last wonderful gilt-edged reading of the theme, walking about in the garden after having come back from the dead.

So I don’t pretend that I am playing the whole cycle.  But I am so moved by the healing experience, the catharsis of coming home to the piano, finding my equilibrium playing Beethoven.  It leads me to believe that, first and foremost, the negative remarks by that fellow I quoted above, are short-sighted.  Maybe this is a good way to approach Beethoven, maybe we should be playing multiple sonatas on a regular basis, given that playing one barely gets us warmed up.  The virtuoso issue of whether Goodyear can achieve the 32? i think that’s perhaps a moot point by now.  If I can play through five sonatas after a hard day of work with no sleep and feel better afterwards, chances are that an accomplished pianist can ride those good vibes, the unexpected healing power of Beethoven.  I have no doubt Goodyear can accomplish the feat.

I am more curious about his interpretive choices, what his playing will sound like.  And I wonder what discoveries we will make hearing him play the cycle.  That’s why I want to be there.

Stewart Goodyear

Posted in Essays | 5 Comments

10 Questions for Arkady Spivak

Posted on April 21, 2012 by barczablog

Arkady Spivak is a classic Canadian success story.  Founder and Artistic Producer of Talk is Free Theatre (TIFT), Spivak earned a BA in Theatre and Business from York University in 2000, immediately joining Barrie’s Gryphon Theatre as a summer student.  While working at the Gryphon full time, Arkady started TIFT, an artist-driven, award winning theatre company based in Barrie that has produced fifty productions concentrating largely on new and neglected work.

Some of TIFT’s productions include The Inspector General (at Barrie City Hall), The Marriage, The Tale of Ivan vs. Ivan all by Nikolai Gogol; Accidental Death of An Anarchist by Dario Fo, Canadian musicals Harvest Moon Rising, Colette: The Colours of Love, Emily (two productions), Variations on a Nervous Breakdown (World Premiere), Playground (World Premiere), Napoleon (In Concert) among others; productions of Canadian plays This Is a Play, Tales of an Urban Indian (held on a moving city bus for a total of 70 performances).  Other notable productions include the highly acclaimed Canadian premiere of Anyone Can Whistle (In Concert) by Arthur Laurents & Stephen Sondheim; the North American Premiere of Trees Die Standing Tall written by Argentinian playwright Alejandro Casona in 1949; first Canadian regional production of the musical Kiss of the Spider Woman; and productions by local writers of world premieres – Chaplin: About Face, Laughton Common and Redemption.

Among the artists who have worked with TIFT are Graham Abbey, Maja Ardal, Leslie Arden, Jim Betts, Adam Brazier, Evan Buliung, Juan Chioran, Darrell Dennis, Wayne Gwillim, Kate Hennig, Jeffrey Huard, Aleksandar Lukac, Joey Miller, Jonathan Monro, Mike Nadajewski, Richard Ouzounian, Jennifer Phipps, Glynis Ranney, Jennifer Stewart, Sam Strasfeld, Blythe Wilson and many others.

Assassins banner

Last year: Assassins

In 2010, TIFT and Birdland Theatre co-produced Assassins in Toronto. This critically acclaimed production sold out its entire run and won the Dora Award for Best Musical. It was remounted this past January with five new cast members and once again, it sold out for 6 weeks, including two extensions.

TIFT also toured its productions to Serbia, England and Russia with recent production of The Tale of Ivan vs. Ivan, and in 2008 the annual International Bulgakov Festival of Creativity in Kiev, Ukraine with excerpts from the 2005 production of Moliere or League of Hypocrites. The Canadian musical Emily, twice produced by TIFT, was a selection finalist at the prestigious Festival of New Musicals of the National Alliance of Musical Theater (NAMT) in New York in 2010. Previous to that Emily was showcased as part of the Songwriters Showcase at the same festival in 2007.

Talk Is Free Theatre recently produced a fundraising benefit of The Producers (In Concert) in support of the Actors Fund of Canada. The performance starred major theatre critics, personalities and members of various arts service and funding organizations, raising $36,000.

While managing a very dynamic and rapidly growing arts organization, Spivak continues to be active in the community as a Member of the Kiwanis Club of Barrie, as a Juror for the Theatre Projects Program of the Ontario Arts Council, as an adjudicator for Sears Drama Festival as well as contributing monthly columns on arts topics in The Barrie Examiner.  Spivak is the recipient of an inaugural Barrie Arts Award for Excellence in the Arts.

This past week Arkady Spivak announced TIFT’s 2012-2013 season.  I ask Spivak ten questions: five about himself and five about Talk Is Free Theatre.

1) Which of your parents do you resemble (what’s your nationality / ethnic background)?

Arkady Spivak

Arkady Spivak, Founder and Artistic Producer of Talk is Free Theatre (TIFT).

I believe I resemble my father who passed away when I was almost 6 years old. I don’t remember him very well, but people tell me I do. Other than that, I am a Russian Jew, though in a way that term is an oxymoron.

2) what is the BEST thing / worst thing about being artistic director of a theatre company?

In order to do the job properly, it has to be more than a job. It’s a lifestyle, it’s a set of philosophical believes, it’s a cult. I think the trickiest thing is to achieve a balance in your life. I mean you don’t want to be in a position that when you retire, you have nothing.

3) who do you listen to or watch?

Never turn on my television other than an occasional newscast. Love listening to obscure Broadway musicals. I am really, really boring in this regard.

4) what ability or skill do you wish you had, that you don’t have?

Admire ballet dancers a lot. Being able to express one’s self non-verbally is the greatest gift, I think. There’s also something tragic having such a brief career after such demanding training.

5) When you’re just relaxing (and not working) what is your favorite thing to do?

Travelling. Love flying around.

Five more about being Artistic Director of TIFT.

1) How does leading TIFT & programming plays challenge you?

I think that the programming of plays is not all that challenging for me personally. I have the luxury of “going on the gut”, rather than satisfying a set of purely commercial obligations, such as the necessity of selling a certain number of tickets to meet the budget, etc. Our revenue generation is highly diversified, which means that I am lucky to be able to take risk, a feeling so important in order to remain visionary and entrepreneurial. The challenge for me is not so much being creative as it is to make things happen practically. I have been very lucky to attract artists who are deeply invested and interested in the work they’re doing, again because of the prevalent ability of the company to take risks. They make me look like a hero, although it’s ultimately not me going to the battle, it’s the artists. And there’s so much talent.

2) what do you love about TIFT, and the plays you’re presenting next season?

Because of our track record, we have the expectation upon us to come up with fresh ideas and visions. To be honest, to achieve anything new in theatre is impossible. Since Aristotle we have seen everything at least once before. I think that success is a certain collective ability to cheat an audience that they’re watching something new. They’re not.

I am looking forward to our cross gendered version of Guys and Dolls – this tactic is known to theatre, but not to musical theatre; simply because the form has a certain degree of mechanical requirements, which are hard to avoid.  I am also very interested in experimenting with creating a new musical using largely improvisational techniques. It’s not enough to look for new works, but it’s equally important to look for new processes, new creation models at the same time.

3) Do you have something you’re especially looking forward to, or a favorite play in the upcoming season?

I think pretty much everything in the new season is something I have been after for quite a while. Nothing is incidental. Everything has been brewing in my brain for years. But in the end the availability of artists for whom these works are the right challenge is what is most important.

4) How do you relate to the Ontario Theatrical Community as a modern man?

I am for total lack of restraint, I guess. Ontarian theatre audiences are not stupid, they will tell you if you’re holding anything back.

5) Is there anyone out there who you particularly admire, and who has influenced you?

Tom Rooney

Tom Rooney

Everyone I collaborate with. I have no business associating with artists whom I don’t at least admire if not love. But if I am threatened with execution, I’d have to say that I am totally fascinated with Tom Rooney these days. A textbook example of a true artist and a brilliant man. He’s totally immediate, yet completely unattainable. In other words, a genius and a huge element of national pride. A unit of measure for what’s good in theatre.

Next up? Spivak &  TIFT close out their current season with Parkdale Peter Pan:  an adaptation of J.M. Barrie’s seminal work, which begins in modern day Canada, journeys to the timelessness of the Never Land and back again.….May 31-June 16.

And next season?

  • A cross gendered version of Guys and Dolls
  • Axis Theatre Company’s The Number 14.
  • Possible Worlds by John Mighton
  • A world premiere musical Dead Souls, adapted from the epic satirical novel by Nikolai Gogol

For more information, go to Talk is Free Theatre’s website.

Posted in Interviews | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Meeting Titurel

Posted on April 21, 2012 by barczablog

I wrote this as a Facebook “note” in August 2009, a kind of diary entry seen only by friends.  It came to mind today in an online conversation, and so I decided to revisit these thoughts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am not sure whom this is addressed to. It’s really a public diary entry, blogged meditation.

I went to see my father-in-law Joe this morning, as I sometimes do. Joe lives in a home, suffering from Alzheimer’s. He’s gradually getting worse, which is precisely what they predict. While prognoses are usually a series of predictions, they’re a sketchy scenario at best. You know the rough curve of the decline, not the ups and downs along the way. Who would expect that this man who worked most of his life among other men (a contractor) would often forget the women blood relatives of his family, yet remember me, the chief man in this life that he still remembers. Some days are better than others, but mostly he sleeps the day away since his wife passed away in April and stopped coming to see him regularly (yes: she exhausted herself with visits to him, and now he lives on, vaguely aware that something in his life is missing).

I’m going to make a comparison that will sound grandiose to some people. And maybe that’s what it is; but I am trying to make sense out of things, so if this works for you, great, and if not, that’s life….

In Wagner’s opera Parsifal, the story concerns the Holy Grail. It’s almost impossible to talk about the subject without invoking hysterical laughter, as we recall Graham Chapman’s King Arthur (God bless him), John Cleese as “Tim”, the woman in the weigh scales with the duck (to see if she was a witch). Symbolic stories full of portents make people laugh, often because the underlying truths are expressed in such absolute language –either this or that, with no gray areas–that reminds us of church and other places where laughter was prohibited. I used to think nursing homes would be like that, but in fact laughter is allowed and encouraged. Parsifal, though, is as serious as they come. When it’s presented at Wagner’s Bayreuth Festival the tradition is that you’re not supposed to applaud at the end of Act I; and sometimes you’ll hear people shushing others. No it’s not an opera about spontaneous emotions, but something more like a visit to a church or a shrine.

Speaking of shrines, in the story of Parsifal, the story itself is a bit of a shrine. Not only do we see the holy grail revealed in the course of the opera –twice in fact, and i hope that doesn’t spoil the story for anyone about to see it–but there’s something in some ways even more magical than the grail.

More magical than the grail? Well how about someone who is almost dead, ready for a crypt, who comes back to life whenever he sees the grail. The Grail ritual renews everyone who sees it, especially Titurel, who is barely alive.

I couldn’t put my finger on it today, when I visited Joe, but there was something curiously familiar. Yes, it was Parsifal. Joe has to be fed by the staff, as he gets weaker. This big strong man has become a 120 pound shadow of his former self. One thing that he loves is chocolate. Today for instance, I brought him the usual — a diabetic candy sweetened with aspartame rather than sugar–to offer to him. When I arrived he was asleep, at 11 am. I stood beside his bed, CNN blaring away on the TV (he doesnt’ seem to understand what’s on, but it’s really a kind of company he wants rather than a specific show), wondering if he would wake up. Then I felt his presence, looking down, suddenly i saw that his eyes were open. He said “good night”, as he often does. And he closed his eyes.

I talked to him. I was trying to re-engage him, to see if he’d wake up. I said hello, and asked if he knew who I was. He was blank…and then when i said “son in law” he nodded and said “son in law” and i said Leslie. And he nodded but didn’t say anything. I am a lot bigger than him, so i wonder sometimes if he’s agreeing because a big stranger is looming above him, and offering him chocolate. Why argue?

Today for the first time, he had serious trouble taking the chocolate from me. Four time he reached towards his face. His hands were having trouble closing on the candy. Once he dropped the chocolate, and it fell alongside his body (he was in a semi-foetal position throughout my visit). And he seemed to drift off to sleep.

I asked him a couple of times if he wanted the chocolate. He’d say yes, reach for it, open his mouth to accept it on his tongue, but couldn’t get his hand –a hand that had powerfully held a hammer and driven nails to build the garage and shed behind my house –to close. His fingers were stiff, bending where they met the hand but otherwise refusing to articulate or curve. His chocolate repeatedly fell from his hand. One time, he closed his eyes as if to just drift off into sleepy surrender. I cleaned off his hand with a kleenex, where the chocolate had partially melted.

Finally I asked him if I could feed it to him. It’s a very intimate moment as you can imagine. He looked up, our eyes met but he said nothing. I brought the chocolate closer, and his eyes widened. I said “let me feed you the chocolate” and he opened his mouth wide and took it. He started to chew…then seemed about to fall asleep again.

If he were to fall asleep with the chocolate in his mouth he could choke. So I woke him up, engaging him in a conversational red herring (and please excuse the mixed metaphor…chocolate herring can’t be very tasty). I asked him if it was good. And told him to chew it. And asked him if it was coconut. Coconut was my favourite. Eventually he chewed it. And then it was as if Titurel came to life, the great king revived and resumed his regal posture for a bit. Joe came back into the room for awhile. He became more animated. I don’t recall what we talked about because i was so delighted to see so much life from him, the strongest and most animated he’d seemed in a few weeks. He said “good night” a few times.

I was struck by the torturous aspect of the encounter, which is why Wagner is sometimes useful. His tales are mythical, which is another way of saying that he paints in broad strokes without being realistic whatsoever. At times like this realism has nothing to do with it. I need a symbol, that i can then imbue with my own meanings. In the opera Titurel has been wasting away because his son has a wound inflicted while sinning. Or in other words, Amfortas had the holy phallic symbol (the holy spear) stolen from him while he was busily having sex with a beautiful woman. Sounds a bit like VD or a psycho-somatic illness brought on by guilt. Amfortas has guilt alright. And so he rarely unveils the grail anymore because the grail torments him and reopens his wounds. By avoiding the grail he is aging his father Titurel. Lordy, everytime we visit Joe and unveil the grail –chocolate flavoured in our case with coconut–to bring him back to life, it’s torture. He is drifting closer and closer to the afterlife where i think he dreams of re-uniting with his recently departed wife Irene. When he sleeps i am sure he sees her. When he eats chocolate, aside from the yummy taste, it pulls him back into this world. But he is gradually getting weaker, his death more and more certain. Today i was shocked that instead of eagerly taking the chocolate, he could not even hold it anymore. What exactly do i accomplish, pulling him back to life, away from his sleep?

In Act III of Parsifal, when the hero finally retrieves the spear from the bad guys, and returns it to the castle of the grail, we hear that dear old Titurel finally passed away. It’s a sad moment but nobody is immortal. I am trying to reconcile these two contrary wishes in my own opera: the desire to feed Joe his chocolate to bring him back to life, and the wish that he will wander off in sleep to be with Irene.

As you all get older, unless there’s a miraculous leap forward in our understanding of Alzheimer’s, there will be more Titurels, on the edge of life and death. Good luck.

~~~~~~~~~~

Epilog: at the time I wrote this in the summer of 2009, I was a regular visitor to my father-in-law, at a home where he was living with Alzheimer’s, having outlived his wife (my mother-in-law,  who had passed away in April 2009) until he too passed away in February 2010.

Posted in Food, Health and Nutrition, Opera, Personal ruminations & essays, Psychology and perception, Spirituality & Religion | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

Muse of Fire

Posted on April 19, 2012 by barczablog

When the Prologue to Henry V confronts us with the limitations of the medium, inviting the audience to employ their “imaginary forces,” because it is our “thoughts that now must deck [their] kings” we are encountering yet another part of the never-ending conversation that is Shakespeare.

Muse of Fire was an ambitious anthology of Shakespearean excerpts, readings about the Bard and modern song settings of Shakespeare.   Presented on two evenings this week, we were taken deeply into a special discursive space where we could both sample Shakespeare in several guises and think about him, in the company of Talisker Players & Groundling Theatre Company.

Muse of Fire was structured in such a way to permit reflection, alternating Shakespeare in performance –songs or readings—with brief commentaries about various aspects such as “language”, “humanity”, and “tradition.”  I couldn’t help wondering about the process whereby our evening was composed, a part of musing that naturally enhances the unfolding performances.  We were happily placed in a critically informed space as if dramaturgs, sharing a meditation on what it is to make theatre.

Or so I felt.

In Muse of Fire we had the wondrous experience of sampling five different compositional flavours of Shakespeare, each sung by Norine Burgess, with a brief reading by Graham Abbey in between to act as baguette to cleanse our palate for the next taste.  Abbey began our evening with the aforementioned Prologue –the one that invokes the Muse of Fire—as a foretaste of the second mature tetralogy of history plays (even though the history in those plays actually comes before the matter shown in the first tetralogy) that is the source for the concluding work on the program, The Breath of Kings.

Bennett

Nigel Bennett

Where the first portion of the evening went back and forth between musical adaptations of Shakespeare and commentary, Breath of Kings was a crowd-pleasing anthology, a virtual greatest-hits compilation from these, the four best-known history plays, completed by judiciously chosen excerpts from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons adapted by Laura Jones in chamber form.  We had been taken to a speculative place of which I believe the Bard would have approved, whereby we were freed of our habitual dependence upon our eyes, and opened up to hear the music of the text irrespective of the gender of the speaker.  Each of the Groundlings had their magical moment.  For Rosemary Dunsmore it was one of Richard II’s great speeches.  For Nigel Bennett, it was the opportunity to perform the entire arc of Falstaff from roaring drunken lout to the heart-break of Henry’s rebuke the day of his coronation.  For Gareth Potter, Henry has the wondrous moments of inspiration at Agincourt, and the courtship of Sophie Goulet as Catherine his queen to be.

A composer who adapts Shakespeare is taking on a role something like that of a dramatist (and excuse me if I unconsciously echo Joseph Kerman’s dictum from Opera as Drama, that “the composer is the dramatist”), and in so doing surely contemplating how much or little of Shakespeare should come through in the process.  I am reminded of Linda Hutcheon’s use of the metaphor of the palimpsest in speaking of adaptation, calling attention to our pleasure in discerning the underlying layers that have been partially covered.  Some composers –Stravinsky’s songs come to mind especially—are busily going about their business of making a musical structure, not necessarily concerned that their work should serve the poet whose words they employ.  The songs of Howard Blake took a more tonal approach, perhaps reflecting Blake’s career in film.  Each composer brought a fresh understanding to the texts.  Alexander Rapoport’s composition was wonderfully rhythmic, a cheery beginning to the concert.  Mark Richards undertook a sonnet in a more spare language, eloquently structured to allow the voice to soar freely.  Having said that, I have to allow that Jean Coulthard’s setting of sonnet XCI was every bit as elegant, sharply divided in its approach between the first eight and the last six lines.

Burgess

Mezzo-soprano Norine Burgess    (© Johannes Ifkovits)

Burgess was particularly impressive with the serial Stravinsky composition, finding pitches across bold intervals with pinpoint accuracy, but warmly musical throughout.  Burgess is a singer of many voices, who showed us different ways to sound beautiful, never singing harshly or out of tune, and always with a touching sense of ensemble with the musicians around her, never the star but an equal.

Speaking of self-effacement and generosity, I am very proud of Massey College at University of Toronto for their role in fostering this wonderfully intellectual experience.  In the middle of the concert John Fraser came forward to offer a bit of background, reminding me of what an exceptionally well-conceived program we were watching.  Talisker Players are to be congratulated, while Massey College is to be thanked for keeping the conversation going.

Groundling TheatreImage from Groundling Theatre’s Website (click to see more)

Posted in Reviews | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Opera Atelier’s Armide in Toronto

Posted on April 18, 2012 by barczablog

I have to rethink my week, because somehow I have to get to see Opera Atelier’s production of Jean-Baptiste Lully’s Armide again.  Possibly the finest opera of the 17th Century, and certainly one of the greatest operas ever written, it’s almost completely unknown to most people.

Why see it again, and why should you see it?

ArmideForget what you think baroque opera is supposed to do.  Instead of the alternation between recitatives and arias, singers showing off their skills with elaborate coloratura and high notes that stop the story in its tracks, Lully’s arioso writing keeps moving, often punctuated by dance, and avoiding the stasis one finds in an Italian baroque aria.

Armide is a story of love and duty.  Set in the Crusades, Armide is an Islamic Princess, while Renaud, her chief antagonist –and eventually her lover— is a Christian Knight.  The story elicits so many odd moments of personal conflict and ambivalence that when Jean-Luc Godard set passages from the opera in the film Aria, they illustrate a kind of misogynistic torment of women that seems to lead to madness.  I don’t encourage you to see Godard’s film, at least until you’ve encountered the work as written.

Watching the opera tonight I thought of a film with a similar offbeat mythology, namely Mr & Mrs Smith, a story about a husband and wife who are hired killers.  For awhile in the film they try to kill each other, not so very different from the antagonism one sometimes experiences in marriage, but taken to a comical extreme.

Or as Pat Benatar tried to tell us, “love is a battlefield”.

That metaphorical understanding of the opera’s epic battles –in other words, that Armide is less a matter of crusading and more a matter of loving—is the key to the new production.  In OA’s previous take on Lully’s opera, at least in what Director Marshall Pynkoski spoke of in his notes– they seemed to focus mostly on the politics, so that it ended on an anti-climax, as Armide was abandoned by her lover Renaud.

This time Pynkoski paid less attention to matters of state and instead concentrated on matters of the heart.  In Lully’s style of opera, dance is integral to the action, and so it’s no wonder that choreographer Jeannette Lajeunesse Zingg was involved more in Armide than perhaps any previous opera from OA.

Dancer Jack Rennie is the most memorable personage in the work (even without singing), playing the figure of Love.  For awhile Armide seeks to escape from love, and enlists the aid of Hate, a demonic figure from Hell, to exorcise Love from inside her.  The small part of Hate was memorably sung by Curtis Sullivan.  Hate brings demons to torture Love, but in the end Armide chooses Love and rejects Hate (which makes him even angrier).

Colin Ainsworth

Tenor Colin Ainsworth

Both leads were outstanding.  Colin Ainsworth as Renaud reprised the role he sang in the previous production, every note exactly on pitch.  The voice is as gentle and sweet sounding as ever, but seems to have grown bigger.  Peggy Kriha Dye as Armide has a far more difficult part to play.  Where Renaud has to mostly look heroic and then fall in love, Armide is a far more ambivalent character of contradictory passions.  The dramatic highlight of the evening was Dye’s scene when she comes upon the sleeping Renaud, intending to kill him.

This sequence –complete with daggers–might be why Jean-Luc Godard decided to show Armide as a window on the oppression of women, with his chief insight being that love makes women crazy.  We saw Dye’s portrayal change from the confident attacker, seduced by Ainsworth’s vulnerable form, and tormented by indecision, finally incapable of striking.

The throbbing heart of the production is Tafelmusik Orchestra led by David Fallis.  Singers were never covered, but always supported sensitively, even though the score is full of drumming and strong rhythms reminiscent of military music.  The other highlight came unexpectedly from Tafelmusik Chamber Choir, in a sequence where we are being told about the delusory nature of reality.  The music is a delightfully sensual lure, even as the text tells us otherwise.

Designer Gerard Gauci’s lovely sets are more elaborate than before, in anticipation of being toured first to Versailles Theatre, and then Glimmerglass for the summer.

But first they’ll finish out the week at the Elgin Theatre until Saturday April 21st.

Posted in Reviews | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment